Chapter 50: Suggestive Language!
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We spend lunch with Hagrid, along with most of the rest of the day, in order to escape the teasing.
I bring my completed picture frames and show them to Hagrid while we have their backs turned to Harry and Hermione.
I throw a smile over my shoulder when I hear how much she's squirming trying to resist the urge to peek.
"Beautiful detail work, that is," Hagrid says jovially, running his enormous fingers around the flat circle on the upper left that contains a cleanly-etched rune of peace.
"Thanks for everything, Hagrid," I say sincerely. Pulling out the rolled up cloth with the hand tools I used, I frown at them. I don't want to give them back since I may need them again, but I suppose I can just ask to borrow them again later. "Here are your tools back."
"No, no, none of that now. I want you to have them. My dad would want them in the hands of someone that can make things like this; they're too small for me." He rubs tears from his eyes at this and I'm forced to look away. I know Hagrid is a bit of a crier, but I can't stand seeing grown men cry. "I'm proud of you for this, you know."
I'm glad he takes the opportunity to pat me on the back with excessive force, which knocks loose the lump in my throat. "Thank you," I say quietly.
Harry clears his throat after I've stowed my gifts and my new carving tools. "Well, we'd best be heading up for dinner. I suspect the crowd will want to have their targets for scorn and ridicule back."
Hermione sinks into her chair so I try to cheer her up. "Like I said, Hermione, I think the Weasley Twins may have set a few people straight about your part, at least. So maybe it'll go back to being all heaped on Harry, as usual."
"That wouldn't make me feel better, William," she answers.
I shrug. "It would probably help Harry a bit, though."
The point, we soon found, was moot.
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"Alright, that's it," I say, pushing out a trickle of magic.
"Hey, Granger, did y—" the voice was drowned out by white noise, the droning buzz that can be heard by tuning a radio to a frequency between radio stations.
Harry and Hermione's redness fades, and they both look up at me, perplexed.
"What's that buzzing?" Harry asks.
"What is this spell?" Hermione asks at the same time.
"The incantation is muffliato," I say. "Sorry, I don't know the wand motion, but maybe there isn't much of one or you don't need it."
"Wow, can anybody outside of this hear us?" Hermione asks.
"I don't think so."
She raises an eyebrow and speaks quietly. "That's not very reassuring."
I glance around and see Ginny Weasley sitting near Ron. "I've heard Ginny Weasley has snogged half the boys in our dormitory," I say loudly.
Hermione gasps. "That's awful, William!"
"It looks like it works, though," Harry points out, "Ron isn't trying to kill me or her."
Hermione looks at me suspiciously again. "Where'd you learn this one?"
"Snape invented it, actually," I say with a grin. "Back in his Hogwarts days."
"Really?" Harry asks, surprised.
"Oh yeah, his main claim to fame was being a Potions prodigy, but he also created this spell, along with a really dark cutting curse that is resistant to magical healing. Anything cut off with it can't be grown back at all." They both look at me in shock.
"Well, don't look at me like that, I doubt I can do it. As far as I know you just say the incantation, and then you swipe your wand back and forth like it's a giant sword."
"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione says in horror. "How could someone like that be allowed to teach children?"
Harry says nothing, but he looks a bit ill as well.
"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this while people are jeering at us," I point out. "They might mistake your faces for actual reactions. Or you could seek the Void."
"Good idea," Hermione says, shaking her head to rid herself of those dark thoughts and closing her eyes.
After half a minute, Harry's eyes come back into focus and he clears his throat. "So, what'd you make Hermione for Christmas?"
This has the effect of immediately removing Hermione's concentration on nothingness.
"Well, you guys already know that I've been carving, so I guess it won't be too much of a surprise," I say, rubbing my chin and looking upward as if considering it. "Oh alright. Don't tell her, but it's..." I lean in with my hand blocking my mouth from her view, but I whisper loud enough for her to hear, "...a secret."
"Prat," Hermione says, sitting back with a pout.
"I can't tell Harry," I point out, "you'd just use your feminine wiles to squeeze the truth out of him."
Her eyes bulged. "My what?"
"You know, make puppy dog eyes, bat your eyelashes, purse your lips, use suggestive language, your usual tricks."
"I do not use suggestive language," she says with a sniff. "You do that, Mr. Euphemism."
"Oh you know I do, baby," I say, waggling my eyebrows exaggeratedly.
"That...is disturbing, don't do that again," Hermione shudders. "It's even worse than your fake English accent."
"Sorry. I notice you didn't completely deny using your feminine wiles to get your way."
"If I had any to begin with – which I don't – why wouldn't I just use them on you?"
"You're too sneaky for that. If you knew that I knew that you knew what your gift is, it wouldn't be as fun for you."
"Well I'm lost," Harry says.
"You seem to have given my alleged feminine wiles a lot of thought," Hermione says with a raised eyebrow.
I grin widely at that. "Ah ha! Suggestive language!"
"What? No! That was...I didn't mean..."
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